Historical Fiction
Date Published: 07-01-2025
Publisher: Coyote Films Edition
Two unlikely friends wander the west in old Ford station wagon. One is
fighting time and the other addiction. In quiet confessions, they travel a
mysterious past, through a present warmed by wisdom and laughter. The people
they meet are unpredictable: aristocrats, mobsters, strong women and weak men.
Theirs is a troubled odyssey, torn by jailbreaks, flash floods, heartbreak and
war. Join them on a timeless adventure in the road trip you'll never forget.
Excerpt
Excerpt from A Desert in Bloom, Chapter 10, The Dutchman
William Landvoigt Bayne All rights reserved AUGUST 1962 Medicine Bow, Wyoming
SHE STILL THOUGHT ABOUT HIM. Not so much these days, but in the beginning, almost every waking moment. At first, she’d wanted to hurt him, to take a piece of lumber and swing it across his face and wipe that damn smile off it.
Not anymore though.
As Russell grew, she began to see it all as a gift, like Zeus had come down to Wellton and left some perfect treasure on her doorstep. She still couldn’t sit a horse without thinking about his father. About how he rode, like some kind of wild Indian, attached at the hip, knees down in the wind.
The Colorado River had the same effect on her; the steady flow of it, the feel of the sand on the shore and the sun’s warm light down in the canyons. Those were the memories she kept now, not the pain and the betrayal. When she came here from Arizona, that was all she could think about, how he’d left her, how he was there one moment and gone the next.
Billie laughed at herself and kicked a stray stone down off the steps. That was what she loved about him; he was like the wind, blowing in all at once, sometimes hot and sometimes cold, here one day and gone the day after. Gone for good, it turned out.
She was grateful for it.
Had he stayed, the memories would be different, and so would she. She had come to like who she was. It was enough.
Across the barnyard, Russell was buckling suitcases to the back of his car. God, he looked just him; lean, sharp-eyed, with that same easy smile and confident stride. She wondered what Paris would make of her western son. Most likely, he’d remake the town in his own image.
When he got the Fulbright scholarship, she was thrilled. He’d escaped the hamster wheel. The land would not define him. He had choices now, no longer hostage to the weather and the price of beef cattle.
But it’d been a long 20 years.
After Daddy got sick, they sold the cattle company to Chicago beef packers and moved north. His medical bills had taken most of the money, and the passage of time had eaten away the rest. Her father had been her rock, always loving, always kind. He gave Russell strong hands and taught her patience and forgiveness. It had taken her years to embrace it, to feel the peace that came with understanding. When her father died, they had managed to keep the headquarters, 80 acres and the main house. It was more than one man could take care of, but doable for a woman and a young boy. Billie hired her father’s old foreman, and together they had made it bloom. Now, they raised the best harness horses in all of Wyoming territory.
Russell closed the car door. He called out for Isaias.
The old Mexican came out of the barn and embraced him fully. She could see Maria in the shadows, weeping. The four of them had made a home here, her son and the little Mexican family she had come to think of as her own.
Her perfect son wiped his hands on a cloth towel and folded it neatly. He took a last look around the place, saw his mother and walked over to the steps where she was standing.
“Watch out for pretty girls,” she said. She had used her beauty as a weapon more than once, hot to the touch, cold fire meant to burn.
“I’m going there to study, not to fool around.”
“And wear a raincoat.” It was a code they’d both agreed on back in high school, when he got his first car.
Russell shook his head with a grin. “I will.”
For the first and only time in his life, she would give him his father’s advice. “The only free cheese is in the trap.”
He laughed out loud, beaming. He had the same broad smile. “I love you, Ma.” He hugged her, held her close and wiped away her tears.
Then he drove off, just like his father.
The tears were different this time. They were tears of joy.
About the Author
WILLIAM LANDVOIGT BAYNE grew up in the South, lives in the West, and was
educated on the roads somewhere in between. As a young man, he hitchhiked
across America, drew comic books, and ran away to join the circus. That
didn’t work out long term, so he moved on to advertising and television,
using the same skills he picked up shoveling manure with the Ringling
Brothers. He has a lot of shiny statues from those filmmaking days.
Writing fiction is a lot more fun than shoveling, so that’s what he does
now.
Bayne’s unique voice springs from his long experience as an artist,
director and storyteller. His many documentary and commercial honors include:
The New York Art Directors Club Award, the Telly, the Addy, the Time-Life
Freddie Award, the BLUE Ocean Film Festival Award, and recognition at both the
Houston and San Francisco International Film Festivals.
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